What I Can't Do
by Starry's Light
Summary: Warm lil love story between Damien and the protagonist, the latter both blind and mute. Oneshot.


**I had a lot of fun creating Nyn (literally pronounced "nin") when I started Fantasy Life. She's always had the same design but she didn't start off blind _or_ mute until I tweaked with her then-blunt-and-dimwitted personality into something that's... a lot different, haha.**

 **Also I didn't mean to make a romance in Fantasy Life: I really didn't. I was just chillin' in the game having fun and trying not to get into ships for once in my life when I met Damien and my brain went OKAY THIS GUY and well I never quite got past that because I mean Damien**

What I Can't Do

Yuelia took her there, as per their usual. The girl who could hear but could not see, but could not speak in turn arrived slowly, and a little nervously, as per her usual. Clutching the small chalkboard she kept tied loosely around her neck, a bit of white chalk—a smeary chalk—tucked into one of the corners. Her silvery hair was done up in some voluminously fluffy braids, and her eyes were closed, as per her usual.

He always grew excited—and a little impatient—just before her arrival, even though she made a point to come most every day; same time: noon; same place: front of the Al Maajik castle. He'd rather not think about the insufferable disappointment when she couldn't make it on a day. It was... shameful nevertheless.

When they first met he didn't think much about it and tried to order her staying in their kingdom: where it was safe, where a silent and unseeing girl couldn't get lost and die easily. It was how he first got to knowing her, but it was a stupid idea. He didn't know any better at the time.

"Auhh... hey, Nyn! You're here!" He bit his lip after darting across the castle's entranceway and crying out such high-pitched words—like that of a child—but the little smile she gave was nice.

In her tidy shorthand, fingers dusted in white, she'd written, **Hello!** with an exclamation that made him feel a little better. His warmly-tanned skin and dark streaks of lavender hair settled in the sunlight; her own form took a lilt in color, but it wasn't much of something she'd notice. Lightly-pink skin, long silvery hair. Her eyes—when they opened once or twice—were small. A darkish brown color. She couldn't see out of them anyways and it was relaxing to keep them closed.

Tiny fingers held together by chalk and each other. A shy smile that tended for the ground over any other landmark. Damien raised one of his fingers to her little chin, to raise her smile, to raise her even slightly, and her face pinked a little more but she didn't correct or stop him, which was nice.

"Was there anything you had in mind today?"

Quickly-scribbled words into the chalkboard: **What you want** ; and then after that was erased, **Yuelia's shopping here**. He nodded slowly; then he remembered and said, "Okay. Well... I didn't really have an idea today..."

He's shown her a few places. The oasis in the midst of the desert. The top of the large, open cliffs. Subterranean accomplices in the dark of the cool, moist caves. She loved adventure, anything that let her keep going, let her feel alive. She and Yuelia matched in that way. Actually they matched in a lot of ways, little ways like that.

Personally he didn't mind as long as he was out of the castle and out of the long-reaching watch of his mother. She thought he deserved a "better" girl. If not one of high expenses then at _least_ one that could see.

They decided eventually, after some scribbling and some thought, to go back toward the opening to Al Maajik, and before that too, where the big dry cliffs were interconnected by naught but some really old drawbridges. He got the feeling when he would crawl, wincing, over the groaning wood, that magicians had cast more than a few spells to keep those things going. But it had a nice view, he supposed. And it felt nice up there. Nyn would like that—well—Nyn would know.

When he expressed his consent and began moving, he'd go slowly first. Her little arms would drape about one of his, attaching snugly, and then she would be ready.

He learned the... hard way... how difficult it was for a silent, unseeing creature such as she to keep from getting lost in a world muddied by action and sound. And the world was so big... So he was her anchor. At this moment, at this time, in this place, he was her anchor.

Shameless blushing. He had this stupid smile on his face that the light of the sun embellished.

Up the valley and out of the town, up the path and up and past and up into open skies and big, heat-touched, rolling hills. Crumbling and dry, Damien watched them a little worrying as he asked Nyn to hold on a little tighter, just to be safe, and they passed drawbridges creaking with all kinds of woes that made him nauseous.

A coyote sprung into their path at one point; Nyn, with a frighteningly dead precision, stuck one hand to her belt—releasing him—and pulled out her shining little dagger and it was done quickly. She heard the beast, his breath on the outside world, his pattering paws on the crackling earth, and it was done quickly. Dagger in the pouch, in her pocket, and it was done quickly.

He always watched with a strange intensity at the accuracy. He knew that this girl lived her entire life "impaired", that she couldn't watch the big brown-furred beast charge her and couldn't ask anyone for help or tell them where to go or tell them anything in the midst of the moment. But she hadn't given up on it, even so; she learned to use the only senses she had to her advantage.

Nyn was a carpenter. She wanted to create. Furnishings. She liked exotic pieces, and she liked exquisite cuts, and it must have been torture for her to have naught but hands to feel the finesse of the wood and ears to hear if a piece cut too quick, too short. At least, it was by his standards. When they met that was all he could see.

Problems.

Releasing a long-pent breath, Damien led her a little farther, toward the shrubbery by the start of the cliffs, where there weren't any creaky bridges or coyotes, just peaceful green. Grassy plains. A merchants' camp nearby. She pulled for a bit, like she'd rather stay, but in the end she acquiesced. Maybe she noticed how cold and... kind of clammy his hand was after the cliffs. He had that from his mother. His well-intentioned and blindly-loving mother.

They sat there on the edge of the grass. The breath of the canyon still squeezed out from ahead, into their ranks, and the taste of the dry heat was billowing in their faces, but Damien felt a little better.

Nyn had on a small Maajik top—purple, with fringe—that showed off some of her stomach, and some of those ridiculous fluffy carpenter pants below that. Sandals, sparkly little sandals. He looked at his own garb—ornately shining: the cape, the shorts, the shoes, the strips of cloth near and about him—and it wasn't _all_ that different.

Her head was down. Then it was up, turned, gently toward him. He asked softly, "What is it, Nyn?" and her head turned a little closer to his, a little higher. The small smile had been discarded, instead her lips downturned, her forehead pinched. A nervous question lay in the scheme of her face. She pinked before reaching for the chalk, lifting her eyes, and slowly, thoughtfully writing.

 **Am I a**... She stopped, thinking, face pinking. She lost her grip on his face, head tilted downward, bangs scattered along her forehead, casting shadow upon her. The hand wrapped about the little bit of chalk squeezed into a fist, and she took in a breath, and she added: **burden?**

Damien's voice came out in a breath. "No... no, no no, of course not, Nyn..."

Furious erasing. Then, **But what am I? What about—** But she ran out of space and scratched blankly at a full chalkboard, the words muddying together until her fingers were shaking and white and the bit of chalk that remained in her hand cracked to a point of uselessness. Face flushed and hot and miserable, she scrubbed at the board, fingers red, until he took the hand and held it, and told her, "Nyn...

He had to search for the words. He liked talking, and he didn't mind it, but the words were so hard to find sometimes, as if eons permeated between what he wanted and his needs. Nyn's other hand curled into a little fist too, but it didn't touch the chalkboard. He took in a breath. "Nyn, it's that...

Oh, cold redemption, cool and refreshing like water. "Nyn... you're just different from other people. But... I'm different too. And Yuelia—and Odin, too, I mean..." Soft chuckle. "Come on, how much does he even speak? He's so awkward when it comes to conversation. Heh..." Shaking his head. "I felt so lucky when I finally met you. And Yuelia, too. It's like... well, the only people that I ever knew were my family, and Odin, and ridiculous guys in suits of armor who thought I was a _villain_ or something. Would-be assassins. You remember them..."

She was laughing too. Silently, shoulders shaking. Her face had flushed and a majority of the color went away: still the worry persisted in her little face. It made Damien sad to see it, all of that nervous, fearing energy inside of her.

When he first met the girl, he saw her like everyone saw her before they knew her: the silent, unseeing creature of small stature and small eyes and small thoughts in her head that couldn't be formed much past her chalkboard. He thought, oh, he _thought_ he was doing the _poor thing_ a favor, letting her stay in the castle, locked away from the rest of the world.

Of course her little butterfly friend persisted, but she was whatever. Yuelia was whatever. She didn't know anything, nobody did. _He_ didn't, remembering the thought, shaking his head slowly. Smiling into the eyes of the girl who knew he was there, who knew he wasn't going anywhere.

Damien tried to come up with something else to tell her, something not too awkward and not too childish. Something sweet, if he could. He did have all of the words in the world—and all the time to say them—but it was the art of the concoction that fascinated him, and he wanted to utilize that art... if he could.

Gently taking her in, he murmured, "It's alright to be different... because I like you just the... way you... are..." And then his face reddened. "Auhh, that's so cheesy... I'm sorry, Nyn..."

Silent, warm laughter. He liked the feeling of holding her when she laughed. It... lessened his embarrassment. She liked it, though. She liked it...

Head tilted upward, he released a long-pent breath.

The moment came back to him, when he realized that this girl was no lame fool. She had snuck out at some point of the night and rounded her way into the artisan lounge, and from the members there she managed to convince one or two to offer some of their excess supplies, and with the excess supplies she made herself a nice little chair with a cushion in the middle. Nothing complex and nothing too long to make, but something if naught else. Damien found her in the stark brightness of morning with the chair, in the room, and her explanation to him via chalkboard of "making it herself" confounded him by no end because like any other lame fool in this world he couldn't see the essential of _how_.

She was Nyn. And she was a creature beautifully flawed like any other human being, but with these flaws she sat on a chair, a chair she created herself with her own tiny two hands. It took hours longer than any other carpenter's chair took, and it didn't look like any other carpenter's chair either. But it held smooth edges, and it held smooth curves, and it held a kind of heart that only burned inside of her.

And in the stark light of the morning he realized that to cage such a light that was already soaring...

Oh, in more ways than they had yet to know. Lunares burnt brightly in the sky.

His eyes came over the silky, silvery hair in their braids. The dull and dark eyes, open and perceiving. Little hands cupped around him, a flushed face, warm, smiling. Her lips went over something, carefully outlining a word, once, twice, again, waiting for him to see it.

"Oh... oh, you're telling me something! Wait... wait, start over." She paused. "Alright, can you do that one more time? And—uh—patience, please, it's gonna take me a little while to see it."

So she did that one more time. And one more time afterward, and one more time after that, until the ruts of the motions began to cut in his mind. Nodding, the light-eyed sultan mouthed the words himself too, first with a warbling uncertainty and then in strength as the message became clear.

 _Damien_.

 **Heheh, it is kind of small and simple, but I just needed to do a thing about them xD Anyone who's curious, I also ship Odin with Yuelia and Robin with Noelia and... maybe a few others that I can't remember right now, haha. I actually considered shipping Laura with Nyn for awhile but then decided against it, hahaha, it gave Nyn this character I didn't really like.**

 **So um, thank you for reading ^^**


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